A Small Skirmish
by jake111
Summary: Just a simple joint operation between the Vi Tempestatis and House Redoran. For the Empire and the Emperor


Great men have always fought for what they believe in, what they want, what they need. For all of time, men have gathered and faced their enemies on the field of battle, fighting with honor and distinction, relying on only their skill with blades and their courage to carry them to victory.

That was certainly how the men and women in front of me viewed themselves.

They were Dunmer of House Dres, a great house of Morrowind. With the Red Year having reduced much of the Empire's influence over the area, the ruling House that had allied with the Empire had been scapegoated and removed from power. Now it was ostensibly ruled by the royal council of Great houses, though in reality, it was more along the lines of a free for all, with each seeking to gain an edge over the other.

That's why we were here, House Redoran, enemies of House Dres, had aligned itself with the Empire to hold the throne. Their enemies became the Empire's enemies, the enemies of the Empire became my enemies. That's why I was here, in a clearing inside this forest of giant mushrooms. Trees grew between the stalks of the massive mushrooms and weeds grew to waist height, combine that with the ash that covered everything and the entire collection obscured everything outside of the clearing, creating a feeling of being fenced in.

I couldn't complain though, I'd chosen the spot after all. In exchange, I'd agreed to bring only twenty of my men. Granted, they were twenty of my most best shock troops, huge snarling orcs in gleaming black Orichalcum armor wielding axes, hammers, and greatswords bigger than some of their would-be opponents, their weapons and armor inscribed with runes glowing with magical power.

Still, fine soldiers they may be, but they were facing a force of two hundred.

There they all were, arrayed in front of us in disciplined lines, their bodies covered in the strange light armor made of insect carapaces that was common in their standard infantry. These were houseguardsmen, serving House Dres directly, that allowed them the full ensemble of modern Morrowindian soldiers. Their heads were hidden by turbans, their eyes shielded by resin goggles, a spider-silk cloak hung over their shoulders down to the loose trousers and high boots that completed the outlandish yet utilitarian look.

Their leader was a different story, he was clearly a noble himself, judging by his armor. It looked brittle, but I knew better. It was bonemold armor, carved from actual bone reinforced with a kind of resin into plate armor. It served just as well, if not better than iron or steel. It was therefore, incredibly expensive and only available to members of the high nobility. His set in particular shined to the point that the yellow metal could be mistaken for actual gold.

I much preferred my own armor, simple, unornamented, functional, and of course, Vi Tempestatis black. I stepped forward, and so did the man in bonemold armor, enough sizing one another up, it was time for us to get to the matter at hand.

The agreement was traditional to the core, as commanders, we would duel to spare our men the casualties. No magic, no backup, just the two of us pitting our mettle against one another. It was old fashioned, like something out of a fairy tale, that appealed to the man before me. He was one of those men, one who would face death with honor and battle fairly and without deception, relying on skill and valor alone to win the day. Some would call those type of men heroes.

I raised my blade skyward, the man did the same, this was traditional too, the posturing before the fighting. Though unlike him, my movements had a point. I twisted my blade in the air, one way, then the other in quick succession. The sunlight glinted off of it, flashing with the movement just as it was supposed to.

Yes, some would call this type of man a hero.

My father would call him an idiot.

At my signal, a crossbow bolt flew from the tree line, striking the enemy commander in the neck, just between his helmet and armor, the enchantment on the bolt incinerating his head in a gout of flame.

At the same time, forty light cavalry men burst from the treeline behind the enemy, a two pronged charge that slammed into the enemy in well drilled unison, brutalizing their rear flanks. The enemy's shock at the brutal death of their commander was only momentary, but it was enough. Their entire focus was on the front, either in shock or anger, and the cavalry were able to cut down twice their number in short order.

As they reoriented themselves to defend against the cavalry charge, I brought my blade down toward the enemy and my men and I charged as one. We met their front line just as their focus shifted, fanning out to surround them, with our enchanted armor and heavy weapons, we were like a hammer slamming a bug into an anvil. Between the shock and our advantage in armor, they weren't able to reform and the melee never turned from our favor.

Within ten minutes, there wasn't a single enemy left standing. My troops reorganized themselves, without my needing to rally them. There wasn't much in the way of celebration, this was a hard fought battle based on a dark deed. Still, you could see the grim satisfaction on their faces, they'd accomplished their task, and to soldiers in the Vi Tempestatis, particularly the first cohort, that was always something to be proud of.

We gathered our wounded and our fallen, stripped the enemy corpses of anything of worth, piled them up, and burned them in a mass pyre. Our wounded were gathered into litters, our fallen wrapped in shrouds and placed atop empty horses. My men carried out the whole thing with practiced discipline and within fifteen minutes we were mounted making our way back to our forward operating base.

A grizzled looking man who looked a few years older than myself drew his horse up next to mine. He was a dark skinned Redguard with a scimitar hanging from his hip and a crossbow slung over his back. "So, that went well."

I kept my eyes on the path ahead, "We lost a third of our men. Acceptable, but nothing to celebrate."

Quaestor Mansel Saryat, Brother of the Blade, surviving member of the Ansei, vampire lord, and my trusted noncom, waved a hand. "Mostly the auxiliary cavalry, easy to replace and train up. We've secured the region and taken out a force of two hundred with sixty men. Seeing their leader show a little pride is good for the men." He spoke again, his voice quiet so that only I could hear him, "It's the girl, isn't it?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, Mansel was right, no point in hiding it. "I don't like hiding behind children." Before he could respond, I carried on, "I'm aware that it was necessary for our victory, and yes, I'm more than aware that I was the one that came up with this plan, and yes, before you ask, I would do it all again in a heartbeat, but I'm not going to take pride in using a little girl as bait to kill her father."

Mansel sat silent for a moment, "So what are we going to do with the kid?"

Damn it, it wasn't that I hadn't been planning for it, it was just something that I didn't enjoy thinking about. "I'll have her sent to the Imperial University, she's young, maybe she can forget this part of her life and move on. I'll not cast her out into the wilderness or end her life just to bring a swift end to the issue."

My quaestor looked at me, eyes full of sadness. "You can't save them all Laelia."

I met his gaze with my own, mine hard as steel, "I also don't have to look them all in the eye Mansel. I don't waste lives."

Mansel didn't press the issue, instead we turned to talking shop, discussing how the various battle strategies we'd employed had played out in the field and how we could improve for our next engagement. From a combat perspective, this had been almost flawlessly executed, we'd need to try and find a work around to lower light cavalry losses, but other than that, it had been a resounding success.

As we reached the gates of the FOB, a man in the camouflage uniform of a Vi Tempestatis messenger approached. I pulled up on the reigns, drawing my horse to a stop. "What's the latest news Praefect?" Best to get an idea of what I'd be hearing in my command tent.

"Ma'am," he said with a quick salute. "A message from your father, Priority three, I've left it with your code clerk. And the commander of the Redoran houseguard is waiting in your command tent."

Priority three meant important, but not urgent. "I'd put my entire inheritance on the line that this wasn't just a note reminding me to polish my armor and wear a warm cloak. "Thank you Praefect, I'll attend to it soon. I will have a response for you this evening, unless you have pressing objectives."

"No ma'am," the messenger snapped off another salute and headed off to handle his business. Leaving a superior officer without being dismissed was something the average legionary wouldn't dream of, but the Vi Tempestatis was past the temple school bullshit. If you were one of us, you were expected to know your business and handle it without a superior telling you when to wipe your nose.

"Ready to deal with the fallout." Mansel gave me a fanged smirk that made me want to smack him.

"Let's get this over with." We dismounted and led our horses to the stables and headed for the command tent.

"Any chance you can pull any of that vampiric seduction on him?" Bonan was not someone I enjoyed dealing with.

"Only on you my dear Yokeda." I listened to my instincts tried to smack him.

He ducked under the smack and faster than my eyes could track, his fangs were pressed gently against my neck, not hard enough to break the skin, just enough that I could feel them digging in. He ran his tongue against the curve of my throat.

I gave a hard twist at the hips and drove my fist into his stomach. "Not in public bat boy, you know that."

He laughed, "Yes, because the men are truly unaware. We don't allow idiots in the first cohort Yokeda."

He had a point, but it was still unprofessional. So is sleeping with your senior noncom, a little voice in my head said, one that I was quick to smack down. "Let's just go deal with Bonan, the other thing can wait."

He shook his head and grinned, but he followed as I continued to the tent. My command tent was a fairly sizable affair, roughly the size of a decent merchant's dwelling, not as large as that kept by many of the Legion's commanding officers, but just as functional. I left feasting to the mess and my own affairs to my personal tent where they belonged. My father always cautioned me on that, 'Laelia, a banquet hall is for feasting, a brothel for whoring, and a command tent for commanding, many of our comrades confuse this, do not make their mistake.'

Maybe if I'd had a more impressive command tent, Lord Bonan Redoran would be less inclined to be so openly hostile. As it was he glared at any of the oneiromancers, astral projectors, diviners, or clerks unlucky enough to meet his gaze. Bonan Redoran was young by elven standards, only eighty two years old, he had cut his teeth fighting Argonians in the south, made a name for himself by scourging heretical tribunal remnants, and subsequently lost that name in a failed political marriage. Thus he found himself in the political exile that was liaising with the Imperial legion and commanding an auxiliary. He was a good warrior, I wouldn't deny him that, but he was an arrogant prick.

"Hail the conquering heroes," he sneered as we stepped inside.

"Good evening to you too, Lord Redoran, what seems to be your issue?" I stepped towards the map table and poured a cup of water from the jeweled pitcher that sat there, the only concession to luxury over utility in the tent, a gift from my baby sister.

"My issue?" Bonan's head took on the distinctive characteristics of a puff adder, his head rearing back, and his cheeks puffing out slightly. "My issue is that eighteen of my men are dead because of your absurd scheme."

"Quite a few more would have died without her 'scheme' your lordiness." I smothered my smile under a sip of water, sometimes professionalism is just so hard. I wondered if father had to deal with this sort of thing. Doubtful, he'd tell an Orc chieftain to piss off and shut the door if he was caught in flagrante delicto with the Orsimer's forge-wife. Hence the Tempestatis became the first legion to have its own orc tribe.

Bonan leveled him with a look that could curdle milk. "I will not dignify that with a response beast."

Bonan was not fond of vampires, Mansel cared deeply of the Redoran's opinion of him, in the same way one cares deeply of navel lint. "You just did, your lordiness."

During this exchange, I scanned the room, the younger clerks and specialists seemed to be in the middle of placing wagers on when Bonan's head would explode, while the seasoned magi barely gave the whole affair a look of irritation before returning to their work.

Still, it was time to bring this farce back to the proper trail. "Lord Bonan, you're a veteran battlefield commander, you understand that men die in battle. The loss of your men, while tragic, was necessary."

The Dunmer turned his furious gaze towards me, it didn't really compare to that of my sister's nursemaid when she was angry. "Then please explain to me exactly why eighteen of my men are dead while only two of your animals were cut down."

I wanted to say the honest reason, our soldiers were better trained, better equipped, and just more effective in general. I didn't have to, Mansel said it for me. "Because our legionnaires are far more effective than the second-rate conscripts the council tosses your way."

I love my senior noncom for multiple reasons, but sometimes I wish he'd just keep his mouth shut. But, no point in trying to go back now, "While my subordinate is uncouth, he is correct. Your men lack the resources afforded to the Vi Tempestatis. An orc in enchanted heavy armor with a great sword, used the proper way, is worth ten normal men."

Bonan seemed to take this as the last straw. His teeth clenched and his hands balled into fists. "That is enough, I will not stand here and be disrespected in such a manner."

"Please feel free to sit down and take it," Mansel interjected, he's helpful that way.

Bonan ignored him, "you will remand the Dres girl to my custody, so that I may take her to Blacklight to account for her family's treason."

And we've reached the part I was looking forward to the least, a very high, or low depending on your perspective, bar considering who I was dealing with. "I'm afraid…" I inhaled deeply through my nostrils, "That I have to disagree with you on that Bonan, Aluri Dres will remain in my custody until she can be transported to the Imperial University."

"You Imperial whore," he was jabbed a finger at me. "You and the beast fucker you call a father are fools."

I'd like to say I didn't enjoy what came next. I'd be lying.

I stepped forward, batted his hand aside, drove my fist into his floating ribs, and swept his feet out from under him in one fluid motion, sending him collapsing onto the map table. As he fell, I hooked his arm around the elbow and jammed it up between his shoulder blades, dislocating it. With my other hand I grabbed a letter opener off the table and planted it against the back of his neck.

"You see Bonan, the mistake you've made is insulting my family, I'm comfortable with you insulting me, but my family is off limits." I released him and let him stumble back. "The girl stays with me, now get the planes out of my sight."

Bonan stumbled out of the tent and my code clerk, a stocky little Breton stepped over to me and handed me a note. "From your father Pilus."

"Thank you Gadan." I read the newly unencrypted letter. "Tell the men to begin striking camp and getting ready to move."

"We're going to Skyrim."


End file.
